The Great Gig in the Sky
by Laa Chase
Summary: One-Shot. Rated for violence and insanity. /// Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember.


* * *

One-Shot. Rated for violence and insanity. /// Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember.

**Author's Note**: I have not seen the OVA or GG II. For an author's sense of creativity and for storyline purposes I will be adding certain details to characters. They will not be entirely OOC, but they are strictly based on my original thoughts only. However, I will (with the best of my ability) never contradict the original storyline from the series. Also, timeline kinda jumps around a lot, so I hope you catch my clue phrases like "night" or "morning" to tell when everything takes place. This is all in one day. Please remember to review! Ciao.

_To me, it is Jose. Not Giuseppe._

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Gunslinger Girl characters or plots.

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Gunslinger Girl / / / _**The Great Gig in the Sky**_ / / / One-Shot

* * *

The piano is playing, something soft, over and over again, higher and higher, then back again. Da-duh. Da-duh. Da-duh. A trumpet plays along, keeping beat. A man speaks, but I don't know what he says. Then a woman screams. She's screaming a long time, her voice echoing off itself in some harmony I can't describe. A drummer is going crazy, and keeping a lively rhythm. Her voice is wavering, the music her casual background. She's screaming, but so tender. Her voice is singing. It goes on forever.

Then she quiets down. Her voice almost humming along, but the piano is playing alone again. Da-duh. Da-duh. Da-duh. She sings a long line of "Ohs" like I never remember hearing anyone sound like before. An emotion that's so far out of reach, I've no idea how to understand it in the first place. And she gets louder again. She's still moaning, and she sounds so upset. The music plays like the breeze of a windy peek, pushing against the feathers of the bird, so soft and tender. She makes me want to cry. She stops.

This song is called "The Great Gig in the Sky." Preformed by Pink Floyd. American.

These are Jose's song. He has a lot of CDs. But this one in particular caught my eye. Along with a recoded CD, labeled "Henrietta's Violin."

When the violin plays, there's a soft tune that reminds me of crying. Not like the woman, not even close. The violin is more quiet and apologetic. The bow, so graceful in its strokes, like a boat in the sea, splashing against the waves. In a dreary storm. In a painful and sorrowful manner. And since I don't cry, this is all I have.

_All I have..._

Sometimes I feel like I lost something. And I have this certainty I won't ever get it back. Should I still care, if I don't remember what it was? I can tell that at one point it might have been important to me. I know it's not important now.

But sometimes I feel like I miss it.

_Is this what I'll always feel like?_

When Jose talks to me, I forget to feel that way. I focus on him, because at this point, he's all that's left. I think he knows that. He smiles at me like he knows, but I'm never sure. I do things that disappoint him. I don't understand why he buys me nice things, and takes me to fun and beautiful places. I don't think I deserve them. I'm still really glad he gives them to me.

But sometimes I feel really cold inside.

I sweat in my sleep, but I wake up shivering. I wake up crying. Sometimes I'm shaking, and I can't stop. My mind gets numb and hurts a lot, like I've been thinking too hard. But I usually can't remember my dreams.

Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember.

I'm too afraid to ask Jose, but I think he knows.

It's funny. I know what dreams are yet I can't seem to remember mine. Isn't it strange I still think about them?

When I wake up, I always know something inside me has happened. Something I think I already knew about. Sometimes it feels like I found what I was missing. But I don't remember, and I can't go back to sleep.

I want to forget these things entirely.

I want to make him happy.

I think I understand that something bad will happen to me if I continue with the conditioning treatment. I don't know how I know this, but its occurred to me there's a possibility that it'll destroy something about me. Jose has hinted these things. Angelina is a walking example. Is this all?

I don't actually understand what will specifically change.

The doctor told me its better I feel this way. He said I might be forgetting something, but maybe it's better if I didn't remember. I'm not sure what he means. But sometimes I think I sort of know.

Horrible feelings, the kind that twist inside, take over me sometimes.

It makes me feel like I'll never be happy.

When I'm sitting alone in my room, staring out the window, sometimes it feels like a flash of inevitable doom is hitting me, and nothing is right and everything that possibly exists is wrong. Usually when that happens, it quickly goes away, and I feel like I remember... nothing anymore. But, sometimes my chest gets real tight. It feels like I'm not breathing. It feels like my head is spinning. I can't concentrate. Eventually, though, this goes away too.

Still, I can't help but feel some kind of dread.

I'm not scared of much. But when my chest gets tight like that, and my body starts shaking, I feel like I'm afraid of something. And whatever it is won't leave me alone.

Sometimes I think I remember why I feel this way. Like a blur it tries to come, but I never seem to be able to organize it. Like something inside of me let it go, and doesn't care to catch it again. It reminds me mostly of gray clouds, and sharp knives, and black crows. I can't seem to describe it. But I know it's there, watching me.

Lately, a little girl cries. In my _head_.

I don't tell Jose these things. I know she's not there. She only appears when I'm not thinking straight.

The first shot, the smell of gunpowder, the crimson dust, and possibly a dark scream; at the right moment, these things make her cry.

She's soft spoken, whoever she is. Because when she cries, she also whispers things, but I can't make them out.

I hear her cry loudest when my machine gun is firing. Sometimes I think she's the part of me that I'm missing.

Her face looks like my face.

But I know she's different. Her hair is longer than mine.

She's angry about something. I'm never that angry.

She wants to tell me something, but I think I don't want to listen.

_It's not important now._

There's some more American music in Jose's collection. He listens to a lot of "Blues" and "R&B." I sort of remember studying stuff like that in one of my English classes, but nothing particular. Since he liked to listen to me play the violin, I always assumed he liked Classical Music. But he had heavy songs called "Rock and Roll" that I don't really like, but somehow enjoy listening too. It reminds me of the ricochet of bullets.

I wondered silently if this could be a bad thing. I wondered...

_Sometimes I wonder... do I really wonder?_

I feel out of sync with everyone at the agency. I like to smile, and I want to have fun. But do I deserve being happy?

_I don't remember._

Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember.

* * *

They locked the door.

I pulled at the knob, but it wouldn't budge. It suddenly occured to me why I was in Jose's room and not my own. They thought I was going to try and break out.

Which was ridiculous. Even if it was getting rather boring, sitting there, listening to music. Staring at things...

And I was beginning to wonder why Jose wasn't back yet.

I was starting to wonder: Were they afraid of me?

The clock was ticking, it was 8 at night now, and the computer hummed along. The couch creaking as I sank back into it was the only other noise in the room. Just silence. Long, treacherous silence.

I strained my ears for clues when I heard footsteps in the hall. But they all passed quickly, without so much as a pause at my door. But after some time I heard the familiar sound of Pierre Corthay boots clunking down the hall. And they paused at my door, rattled the knob, and walked in.

Triela smiled at me.

I was overwhelmed with joy to see her. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around her neck. Then I realized I had been worried and anxious this whole time, and it just took a friendly face to remind me.

"What happened?" I asked.

* * *

Snow had been on the ground, packed into heeps on the sidewalk. The morning sun made it sparkle, illuminating the streets like orbs of white light. My nose was bitter cold from the wind. I couldn't even feel it anymore.

Jose stopped and bought us both some hot cocoa. I loved holding it, because the warmth would spread through my fingertips. And the smell reminded me of Christmas.

I invisioned sitting on a couch drinking hot cocoa, and staring at a fireplace decorated with holly. But as soon as it flashed in my mind, it was gone, and all that remained was the idea of sitting next to a fireplace. It was unsettling.

Jose was in a good mood. We seemed to be relaxing today, so I didn't understand why I had to carry my violin case with me. Until we stopped on a park bench and Jose started telling me his plans.

"That warehouse over there," he pointed to a building two blocks down, "is our target."

I studied the building. I saw it blow up in my mind, a mushroom of flame engulfing the sky. But that was't what he meant.

"We hit everyone inside."

I looked to my violin case. "How many?"

"Ten," Jose said. "More or less."

I decided not to ask about the details. If it were important, Jose would tell me. Apparently this was a quiet job.

"How do we get in?" I asked, then took a sip of my hot cocoa. It was starting to get cold.

"The roof has an emergency exit. We'll climb up the building next door, and enter from the top."

A ceiling attack. I liked those.

I tossed the cup of cocoa into a trash can nearby. Jose stood instantly, pushing a pair of shades over his eyes. We walked casually down the street.

In the alley next to our target building there was a fire escape up the apartment complex. Jose took my violin and I went first.

The target building was four stories. I reasoned that it must be a sort of gymnasium, or a giant open room with high ceilings.

We dismantled the alarm system at the exit door. Before we opened it, I pulled out my Fabrique Nationale P90, and unlocked the safety.

Once we reached the inside, I realized we were in an old Opera Theatre.

It was beautiful. The stage was made out of cherry wood, and the curtains were sheets of red velvet. The audience seating was cushioned, and the walls were covered with black hangings. But everything had a thick layer of dust.

I paused to soak it all in. It must have been such a wonderful place when it was open and running. Probably a thousand different brilliant plays performed on that very spot. It made me kind of sad to see it so desolated.

Jose and I seperated to circle the balconies. No one was there. Then we sat in the front seats of the balcony just left of the stage, and we waited.

Half an hour went by and we did not speak the entire time. I was starting to get bored again. Then I heard voices.

The entrance doors burst open with a clang. Jose ducked and I mimicked him. Then men were talking. It sounded like they were arguing.

"Open it. Let's see."

By the sound of their voices, I could tell they had already reached the stage. I looked to Jose. He shook his head, and listened.

"... give me the key, I'll do it..."

"Take it then, sheesh."

"Don't get pissy."

"Just open the box, eh?"

Silence. The sound of metal against metal, then the creaking of bolts.

"They're all there?"

"Every political recording disclosed from the public since April. Sorted n' all."

"Good. We don't want anyone poking around. For now we best keep these in my safe back home."

I looked at Jose again. But he wasn't paying attention to me. He was thinking about something, his face contorted. After a few seconds I realized the men were leaving.

I jerked my chin to get his attention. His eyes flashed over mine. He nodded.

The split second I saw this sign of approval, I jumped up from the floor of the balcony and leaned over the railing with the P90 rested on my shoulder blade. My movement was enough to get the attention of one man at the back of the line filing out. I shot him first.

The next three in line dropped just as quickly. The others scattered into the seats.

Someone had the gumbo enough to shoot back. I spotted him quickly, and aimed for him immediately.

But there was a split second when I turned to aim for this man and he was already firing. And in that split moment of time, Jose was hit.

I saw it from the corner of my eye. Jose was standing, and pulling a gun from inside his jacket. And then suddenly there was blood splashing everything, and he fell.

I didn't stop to look at him. My eyes were like daggers at this man on the ground with a gun that just fired. I jumped from the balcony, and landed, creating a cratter, just inches from him. The air was ominous.

His face was full of disbelief. His hand was shaking. He quickly aimed, but I fired. And smiled when he fell to the ground, bleeding from the skull.

I've often heard about the pleasure to kill. I myself never really felt it. Not until that very instant. And finally I understood it. I felt humanity then, full of pleasure and greed, and I felt like I was a part of it. It was this adrenaline rush, my heart beating faster and faster. Like an addiction. I'd also never felt my heart race before.

There was a shot behind me. And I ducked, running in between the auidence seats. Dodging and zig zagging. I popped up only to shoot those I could hear running.

It was like a game of cat and mouse now. And the more mice I killed, the happier I became.

My blood was warm. I'd never felt this warm before. I've never had this smile. This divine smile on my lips as people died around me.

The girl in the back of my mind started crying.

But I didn't want to stop.

* * *

_There's a doll on a shelf that always smiles._

_Her eyes stay open too, seeing everything. And I have a feeling she hears everything._

_But mostly, she just smiles._

_She seems rather content._

_Sitting on that shelf, smiling._

_But there was nothing to smile about._

_Dust covered her velvet dress because s__he was discarded long ago._

_But she still goes on smiling._

_Seeming rather content._

_Smiling even when no one wants her._

_Smiling because she can._

_I want to know what that's like._

_To always smile._

* * *

Triela wouldn't tell me anything. "There's a reason you don't remember," she said.

"Please," I begged. "I just want to know what happened this morning. Jose, he was bleeding..."

Triela bit her lip, her eyes a somber blue. "He's okay. The bullet only hit his arm."

I physically relaxed with a heavy sigh and fell back into the couch with just those words. My heart soared. My head felt much lighter, and much happier too.

"They put you through conditioning all morning..." Triela spoke quietly. She was in pain, you could tell; these words hurt her.

I didn't remember that either. "Conditioning?"

Then Triela grimanced and turned away.

Her silence and pain and exemplified what I already knew when I found the door was locked earlier. They _were_ afraid of me. Tears came to my eyes.

"After the Opera Theatre--" Triela started, but Jose entered then and her sentence fell short.

Jose shot Triela a sympathetic look, then walked up to me. "Come on, Henrietta."

He smiled at me.

I relaxed quickly, smiling back at him. But something was wrong with his smile. He looked really tired. His arm was bandaged.

"Let's go," he said. He pulled a pocketwatch from his jacket and stared at it. I had the strongest feeling he was avoiding looking at me.

I stood and accompanied him out the door. I gave Triela one last glance before I left, but she was no longer looking at me either. Jose and I walked side-by-side down the hall, and I glanced at him a lot, but he just stared straight ahead.

I had that feeling in my gut again. Like everything was wrong.

* * *

_Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember._

* * *

Eventually we reached the conditioning room.

When we got there my first instinct was to look at Jose. But he still wasn't looking at me, and it occured to me why.

I was going to forget everything.

I felt it. I'd been conditioned before, but never all morning and then again at night. This is what they did to the cyborgs who went haywire.

I must have went haywire.

I was disappointed in myself just then. Miserable at what a failure I turned out to be. The humanity in me turned cold. I felt hollow. I was a walking corpse already.

Jose knelt beside me.

I found myself being the one avoiding his eyes now. I stared instead at the chair in the middle of the room. Blindly realizing it was cushioned. How comforting.

"Henrietta," he whispered.

I looked at him then. Only because I couldn't keep on avoiding his eyes without feeling grief. I decided not to look sad. I tried to show him I understood. Tried to look reassuring.

I don't think it helped either one of us.

I thought about my violin just then. I thought about tears. Crystal-like falling tears rushing down the chin of a child. Rushing down the chin of a doll.

So I hugged Jose. And he was very warm, and soft.

And then they took me away, and placed me in the chair.

That woman's singing started playing in my head. Screaming and moaning, like a tidal wave. The little girl in my head was humming along. I closed my eyes and I could see sunlight and a field of green grass.

And I started humming too. Because I couldn't scream like that woman, or express myself the way she did. But I felt it.

And I reached out to the sky. Towards a blinding white light. With blood-stained hands.

And I thought about The Great Gig in the Sky. The one I'd never see.

* * *

_Blood splattered the walls and chairs and across the family photos. The carpet looked so dirty. Mom would be so irritated trying to clean it..._

_Mom, she already looked so mad. Her eyes were empty, and it scared me, but I continued to stare into them. Blood was on her face as well. Mom hated having a dirty face..._

_There was a pain inside me. It wouldn't stop hurting, hurting, hurting..._

_Eventually the pain evolved and so did the scene around me. There was still blood everywhere, but Mom was gone and the cushioned audience seats and the black hangings on the wall were the only things left. But the pain was there. Pain, pain, it was bloody pain._

_Tears were streaming down my cheeks, but they had mostly dried by now. I was walking through the aisles and out the exit door. The morning sun glared in my eyes, and then I could see the people outside._

_I heard laughing. Twisted, evil laughing, and a pain inside. It was inside, hurting, hurting, hurting..._

_I vaguely realized I was holding a gun. Faces loomed before me, laughing. So dark, so angry._

_I pulled the trigger and let their heads explode like dust. The laughter didn't stop, but I was relieved I no longer saw the faces. But the laughter..._

_The gun was firing again. I'd never heard a gun fire before. It amazed me, terrified me. Somehow it sounded so familiar._

_A woman was screaming. Screaming. The laughter stopped. I turned to the sound, and like stepping out of darkness, the sun flashed in my eyes again._

_There were people on the ground. Bloody people. Men, women, children..._

_I was still holding the gun._

* * *

Sometimes I think I did something really bad, and that's why I can't remember.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sloppy ending! Maybe I'll make it more senisble one day. Til then, ciao! Oh--and review!


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